There was something in his sincerity that Toby dare not question. Thankfully, the meal was brought at that moment, precluding the discussion from burgeoning into something uncomfortable. Her father, however, made sure to corner her privately as the guests took their seats.
“If I have ever asked one thing of you, now is the time. Behave tonight, if not for yourself, then for me. Please.”
There was heavy alcohol on his breath. That was a usual occurrence, but Toby would have none of it tonight. “If you promise not to get drunk and fly out of control as you do, I shall promise to behave.”
Balin’s expression turned cold. “Mind yourself, daughter. And do as I ask.”
With reluctance, Toby silently agreed and went to take her seat. She ended up seated at Tate’s right hand; the knights were across from her, the squire on her right, and her father at the end of the table.
She was mildly uncomfortable seated so close to Tate. His hand was near hers and she put her hand in her lap. He lapsedinto a quiet discussion with his knights while Toby silently attended her meal. When the knights laughed at something and she looked up to see what the joke was about, Tate apologized.
“I do not believe I have made formal introductions to you, my lady.” He indicated the two armored men across the table. “These are my trusted friends, Sir Stephen of Pembury and Sir Kenneth St. Héver. They have informed me that I have been most rude by way of presentation.”
Toby looked at the men, suspecting they said nothing to Tate about his rudeness. More than likely, the laugh had been at her expense. She simply nodded at them as Tate indicated the young man sitting at her right.
“And this is my squire, John of Hainault.” The lad looked mortified as all eyes turned to him. His mouth was full of food and it was a struggle for him to chew and not choke. “Careful not to get close to him, else he might bite. He eats everything within arm’s length these days.”
“He is a growing boy,” Balin said. “Though I have no sons, I was a lad once. ’Tis a pleasure to see a young man with a healthy appetite.”
Ailsa made her grand entrance at that moment. Not strangely, she singled out the squire and planted herself firmly between the young lad and her father. She had a tendency to like older boys. Her big green eyes were fixed on him, his clothing, his hair, even the way he held his spoon.
“Gentlemen, my youngest child, Mistress Ailsa Cartingdon,” Balin said. “I hope you do not mind that I have allowed her to join us.”
Tate passed a cursory glance at the child, who had eyes only for his squire. The knights barely looked up from their meal. The squire, however, seemed clearly uncomfortable.
“Hello,” Ailsa said to him.
The young man swallowed hard. He cast the girl a quick glance. “Hello.”
Ailsa watched with interest as he practically buried his face in his food in an attempt to avoid talking to her. “What is your name?” she asked.
“J-John,” the boy replied.
“How old are you, John?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Are you a knight yet?”
John glanced at the men seated around him, silently begging for help. Tate took pity on him. “He is not yet, mistress.”
Ailsa fixed her attention on Tate. “Are you Sir Tate?”
“Ailsa,” Balin hissed at her, shaking his head.
Tate responded. “A natural question to a strange man sitting at her table. Yes, mistress, I am.”
“Why do they call you Dragonblade?”
Toby nearly choked; in fact, only a large gulp of wine helped the clot of mutton slide down her throat. “Ailsa, behave yourself.”
“But I just want to know.”
“Now isnotthe time.” Toby turned to Tate. “Forgive her, my lord. She is young and without tact.”
“That seems to be a family trait.”
Her cheeks burned at his dig as she remembered her vow to behave. “As you say, my lord.”
